


Only Slightly Out of Touch

by AsadMinQamar



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsadMinQamar/pseuds/AsadMinQamar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezio has never found himself attracted to a fellow assassin before and it surprises him the first time comes in his later years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Slightly Out of Touch

“Ezio. This way.”  
  
Yusuf’s soft voice pierces the darkness, the only sign that the assassin is there. He’s been around long enough to know how to play the shadows to his advantage and he exploits that knowledge with great pride. A few paces back, Ezio’s ankles crackle a bit, revealing his age.  
  
He follows the younger assassin, his _subordinate_ , skillfully. His boots make no sound on the gritty cobblestone and his weapons are silent on his belt. Even in his more... seasoned... condition, he moves like a panther stalking the jungle. Unseen unless he chooses to show himself- until the moment comes to strike.  
  
Yusuf stops abruptly, gliding into a low crouch at the very edge of the rooftop. One hand reaches out in a silent signal- _wait_.  
  
“What is it?” Ezio asks, falling into place behind the assassin. His left knee pops as he assumes a similar position, sending a short tendril of pain up his leg and brightening Yusuf’s eyes with unheard laughter.  
  
“Down there, look.” Yusuf whispers back, motioning down to the city garden with his chin. “I think we’ve found our rogue assassin, although... this isn’t what I had in mind when I asked you to come out tonight.”  
  
Ezio follows Yusuf’s gaze until it reaches a haystack. His forehead crinkles and he’s about to ask what exactly he’s supposed to be looking for when it shudders suddenly. A set of shadows play out beneath the cart- four legs, one in long robes and the other...  
  
“Well, at least we know he was not neglecting his duties for the Templar,” Ezio chuckles, “We can straighten him out in the morning, _si_?”  
  
“But- Ezio- aren’t you-?”  
  
“Not at all. Let it go, Yusuf.”  
  
They go back to the den on the streets. It’s mostly because Ezio is feeling particularly lazy, but also because it gives him a chance to window shop. While he may have upgraded his armor (and spent a fortune doing it) there’s little left to hide the fact that his robes are just about in tatters. They’re stained with blood, mostly of templars but some is his own, and ripped and dirty and- it simply isn’t fashionable.  
  
And he isn’t about to admit that he’s been eyeballing Yusuf’s robes, but... he has been. And he wants some of his very own.  
  
“So tell me,” Ezio says, “Where does a man go to get a decent outfit in this city?”  
  
The look Yusuf gives him is one of amusement rather than ridicule and Ezio breathes a sigh of relief. Not that he was expecting Yusuf to make fun of him, that would be unkind, of course.  
  
“Probably a tailor,” Yusuf replies. He stops walking, the fingers of one hand stroking through his beard for a moment before his eyes light up. “There’s one right by the hideout. We can go together if you’d like. They’ll be open in the morning.”  
  
“Perfect.” Ezio smiles wide. “Tomorrow it is then.”  
  


x x x

  
Yusuf wakes up surprisingly early. It’s much too early for Ezio, but he’s gotten used to sleeping in these past few years and this kind of change should be good for him, he hopes.  
  
“To be honest, I was going to suggest this very same thing,” Yusuf confides in him as they wander their way down to the tailor’s. “It was easy to believe the stories about your trip through Masayaf after seeing you, if you get my drift.”  
  
Ezio definitely understands what Yusuf is trying to say and although he agrees, the statement stings slightly. He doesn’t look _that_ bad.  
  
The streets of Istanbul are bustling with merchants and patrons, thieves and mercenaries, assassins and civilians alike. The sheer diversity of the people is overwhelming. This isn’t like Firenze, or Roma, with all the people coming from the same stock. Here, the cultures blend into each other until none can tell where one ends and another begins.  
  
Even after making the city his home for nearly a month, Ezio still manages to lose himself in the throng of the market- in its many voices and smells and sights- and it takes Yusuf taking hold of his hand and forcibly tugging him through the crowds to keep him from wandering off.  
  
“You’re like a child, Ezio,” he admonishes, “It’s surprising you get any work done at all.”  
  
“I never get the chance to walk around _without_ a job,” Ezio grumbles back, but he doesn’t pull away. He allows himself to be led this way and that and suddenly they stand in front of a small shop whose windows are filled with different fabrics.  
  
Yusuf pushes him through the door and the brusque movement sends dust particles into the air, making Ezio sneeze.  
  
“It is far better that way, trust me,” Yusuf tells him, “Otherwise we would be bankrupt.”  
  
The younger assassin turns his attention away from Ezio to yell over the counter, “Maya! Maya, get down here, you lazy slug!”  
  
Ezio is struck silent by Yusuf’s rude greeting, but he has little time to revel in his surprise because seconds later, a young lady comes storming in from the back room, her face red and hair disheveled. He understands none of what happens next due to the fact that they both fall into one of the many quick dialects he has yet to grasp.  
  
From what little words here and there he does catch, however, he assumes they have some sort of... history together.  
  
“For the last time, no!” Maya growls, her fingers digging into the wooden counter as if she had claws, “I’ve had enough of your little friends and their-”  
  
“This isn’t a friend, it’s the master of our order! Come on, do it as a favor for me-”  
  
“Get out of here Yusuf!”  
  
“Ungrateful wretch! Who pays for the roof over your head, eh? And you can’t-”  
  
Ezio cuts in most gracefully, taking Maya’s hand in his own just as she raises it to strike at Yusuf and kissing her knuckles softly.  
  
“I beg your pardon, _mia_ _bella_ , but as you can see, I am in rather dire need of a fashion upgrade.” His words flow smoothly, silencing the two. “So if you can forgive this fool for whatever he has done, I will make sure he pays for his past errors.”  
  
For all that Maya’s expression brightens, Yusuf’s darkens and Ezio gets the impression that maybe he could have left that last bit out.  
  
“What can I do for the man who has volunteered to murder my brother for me?” Maya asks sweetly, leaning far over the counter and trailing her fingers along Ezio’s arm.  
  
Ezio takes a step back and clears his throat awkwardly.  
  
“I require clothing,” he states plainly, “Much like the robes Yusuf wears.”  
  
Her face falls a little, but she doesn’t renege on her offer.  
  
“Step into the back and I’ll measure you, then we can work out the details.”  
  
Measuring turns out to be more complicated that Ezio expects, mostly because it requires him to take off nearly all of his clothing. Lucky for him, Yusuf decides to stick around and keep his sister (Ezio still can’t get over the fact that he has a _sister_ ) from getting too handsy.  
  
When all’s said and done, they spend more time arguing about which colors would go better with Ezio’s eyes than anything else.  
  
“I want white- just plain white. Why is that so hard?” Ezio whines, burrowing his hands in his hair, “Yours are white-”  
  
“And they have a splash of color, Ezio,” Yusuf rumbles back, “You look outside- seriously, go look outside. Do you see a single person wearing just plain white? You don’t, because it’s ridiculous.”  
  
By the time they decide on cerulean and copper, Ezio is ready to throw Yusuf from the top of the Assassin’s tower and he figures that Yusuf wants to do much the same to him. Maya, however, can’t be happier as she rings up the price of a new set of robes and several pairs of harem pants and a sash (or two, but those are Yusuf’s) and some other things that Ezio doesn’t even remember talking about.  
  
It turns out to be painfully expensive.  
  
“How will you be paying?” Maya asks sweetly, and a glint in her eye tells Ezio that he’s got about two seconds to give the right answer.  
  
“Up front,” he says with a sigh, pulling out his money bag, “No excuses, Yusuf. You wanted to come here.”  
  
Maya lops off a good sum of the total as a reward for Ezio’s willingness to buy into her scam, but he pays the full price regardless because he can. He’s just that kind of guy.  


x x x

  
They carry half the order out of the shop with them- the items that don’t need to be individually fitted. The result is that Yusuf _insists_ on Ezio trying on his entire new wardrobe the minute they get back to the hideout. It only takes minutes for Ezio run into his first mishap.  
  
“Are you certain they are supposed to fit this way?” Ezio asks skeptically, tugging at the waist of his new pants until they’re halfway up his torso. “They don’t seem very supportive.”  
  
Yusuf laughs and slaps his hands away so that he can wrench the pants back down to their proper place below his belly button and just barely above his groin. They’re snug on his hips, and almost embarrassingly so on his ass, but Yusuf assures him that this will be covered up by his robes.  
  
What really bothers Ezio is the sag. It’s almost as if he’s wearing a skirt because they sag halfway down his thighs, but they tighten up again right above the knee and turn into normal pants.  
  
“You will get used to them,” Yusuf says, unable to keep the cheer from his tone, “If it is any consolation, they take years off. Especially now that you’ve let your hair down-”  
  
“Don’t even think about it,” Ezio says, effectively cutting him off, “Some things will remain just as they are.”  
  
Yusuf’s hands stray down to his hips once more, squeezing roughly for a moment before one hand strays to his backside for a quick slap and he groans, “Your lack of confidence is a pity, Ezio.”  
  
In that moment, they’re closer than they’ve been since meeting each other. Ezio can see himself reflected in Yusuf’s dark, nearly black eyes- and the grind of their hips pressing together is all he can think about, other than the fact that he can practically taste the air freshly expelled from Yusuf’s lungs, he can smell the spices on his skin.  
  
It’s closer than he’s been to anyone in years, and he’s only slightly ashamed to find himself wanting for more.  
  
He’s out of arms distance faster than Ezio can take a breath, which is somewhat difficult since he suddenly finds himself slightly breathless.  
  
“I’m going to make chai. See you downstairs.”  
  
The rest of the day is strange not because anything between them changes, but because everything remains exactly the same.

   


x x x

  
A few days later, the rest of the order arrives and after a few minutes of fighting with the lengths of cloth, Ezio dreads having to ask Yusuf how the hell to put it on. However, he does cave and finally ask after realizing the only way he can make the damned thing work is to sling it around himself like a toga and that reminds him way, way too much of Italy.  
  
“ _Amico_ _mio_ , please, I need help,” Ezio whines through the door to Yusuf’s room, disgusted by his own groveling. “It will only take a minute.”  
  
Yusuf’s eyes are dark when his door swings open, from lack of sleep and something slightly less tangible. He takes one quick look at Ezio standing in the hall in only his harem pants, holding what is supposed to be his new clothes, and pulls him harshly into his room without a word.  
  
A few awkward minutes pass as Yusuf tries to untangle the mess Ezio has made, grumbling about this and that when he isn’t sparing a moment to glare at Ezio from beneath a tangle of bed-ridden hair.  
  
“All right, stand straight, arms out,” Yusuf finally says, holding the garment with both hands, “I don’t know how you made such a mess of this, it’s easy enough for a child.”  
  
He’s right, of course, and within seconds, Ezio almost looks like he belongs on the streets. If not for his thicker build, he would probably even look like a native of the city.  
  
“And now, the sash,” Yusuf says, a hint of his old mischievousness creeping into his voice, “Hold still for a second...”  
  
His fingers pry at Ezio’s waist, digging under the material and across his skin, and for one stomach-dropping moment, Ezio thinks he’s going to force his hand directly down the front of his trousers. Instead, Yusuf pulls out a little golden ring triumphantly and attaches the end of the sash to it, holding it in place while he winds the rest of the long strip around Ezio’s waist.  
  
Ezio eyes himself over in the mirror, but he spends more time gazing down at where Yusuf’s hands are still perched on his hips than his appearance. It only takes one look at Yusuf, just a second of their eyes meeting for Ezio to realize that Yusuf is looking at him just as intently.  
  
But once again, the moment is broken when Yusuf pulling away.  
  
“I told you the color would look better,” Yusuf says, drawing his arms around himself and slinking back into the shadows of his room.  
  
“And you were right.”  
  
  


x x x

  
Ezio doesn’t sleep well that night, haunted by dreams of Venice.  
  
He remembers Leonardo’s bottega, how it always smelled of wood and oil, and he can nearly taste the sweet wine that was the painter’s favorite. He allows his mind to be flooded with the memories of hot, slow afternoons spent in Leonardo’s bedroom, and the days that he woke to a paintbrush tickling his skin. Then there was the move to Milan- where the days went by even slower until it seemed like he would spend out the rest of his days in peace-  
  
The good memories only last so long, however, before he remembers how he ended up here. It isn’t something he wants to think about this soon, so he doesn’t.  
  
No one else is awake when he rises from bed to wander down to the hideout proper. His bare feet make no sound on the cold floor and the soft material of his low-riding pants is equally silent as it brushes against itself.  
  
The tactics room looks like a terrible mess, but Ezio can’t bring himself to do anything more than settle down in front of the large map of Europe and Asia. His eyes flicker from one city to another, all places his assassins have left the mark of the brotherhood. Soon, he thinks, even the most remote cities will have an assassin presence.  
  
His fingers trail along the heavy parchment, tracing the roads from Italy to Masayaf, from there to Constantinople. He wonders if he’ll ever go back to Italy after this, or if he’ll lose himself in Altaïr’s library after finding the last of the keys. He wonders... if anyone will still even remember him if he simply vanishes off the map entirely.  
  
“A few of our recruits returned from Alexandria today.”  
  
Ezio doesn’t have to look to know the voice belongs to Yusuf.  
  
“You can’t sleep either?” he asks, drawing back from the map and settling back into the creaking wooden contraption that passes as a chair. His back creaks along with it, but he ignores it.  
  
“I scarcely find rest these days,” Yusuf replies, coming into the light slowly and stalking over to the map. He rests his hands on the table and leans forward, hair falling into his face. “So what keeps a master assassin from sleeping in the safest place in the world?”  
  
Ezio considers the question and toys with the idea of telling Yusuf about Leonardo. But then he figures, Yusuf is an assassin- a highly informed assassin at that. There’s probably very little he _doesn’t_ know, even about Ezio’s personal life.  
  
“We all have demons,” he settles on his answer, “Mine are the same as any man’s.”  
  
Yusuf accepts his answer without dispute. He glances down at the map in scrutiny for a while before his lips part to speak once more.  
  
“I can think of a few ways for both of us to get a good night’s rest,” he says softly, a subtle suggestion floating just above his words, “That is, of course, if you do not protest a bit of recreational activity.”  
  
Ezio doesn’t know whether or not to be surprised by Yusuf’s frank proposal, but he nods slowly regardless.  
  
“What did you have in mind?”  
  
The broad expanse of Yusuf’s teeth when he smiles sends a shiver of something terrifying down Ezio’s spine.  


x x x

  
Constantinople is beautiful at night.  
  
They run across the rooftops as fast as they can manage in bare feet, jumping nimbly along only the smoothest stones. Ezio is wearing the same as he was minutes ago, no time was wasted getting dressed or pulling his hair back. This was more important.  
  
Yusuf is a few meters ahead and he reaches up to swing on an iron bar protruding from the wall. Ezio watches the muscles of his back flex and pulse and he wonders if his look the same anymore, or if there’s too little of him left to be so youthful.  
  
And sure, there are less than ten years separating them, but unlike Ezio, Yusuf never sat still long enough to waste away. He has the body of someone born into the life, all corded muscle without an inch to spare for softness.  
  
“Can you keep up, old man?” Yusuf calls out over his shoulder, “Shall I slow down for you?”  
  
Ezio curses under his breath and catches up with a burst of speed, hand swinging out to slap against Yusuf’s rump hard. He takes advantage of the younger assassin’s surprise to push on ahead, taking the lead.  
  
He was surprised at first, when Yusuf led him outside rather than to his bedroom. The novelty of surprise only lasted so long before the pleasure of freedom overtook it and Ezio allowed himself to breathe, and laugh, and yell into the black night.  
  
When they wind down, both out of breath from running too hard for too long, Ezio doesn’t even know where they are. All he can see is the cast expanse of stars above them, and the white stone of one of the assassin’s towers above them. The patch of grass they collapsed on is damp with dew under his skin, and he can feel the heat of Yusuf’s body laying beside his.  
  
“Now you tell me,” Yusuf wheezes, “You tell me if you won’t get a good night’s sleep after that.”  
  
Ezio laughs, “We have to get back to the hideout first, I think.”  
  
“Templars take the hideout,” Yusuf shoots back, rolling over on his side to face him, “We can sleep right here.”  
  
Well that’s an innovative idea if Ezio has ever heard one.  
  
“Oh really? And when the templars really do find us?” Ezio asks, barely noticing the way Yusuf seems to be gravitating towards him, or how their hands are quite suddenly pressed together- Yusuf’s fingers tangling with his own.  
  
“Then I’ll just have to fight them off,” Yusuf murmurs, pressing his lips to Ezio’s shoulder, “I’ll kill them all.”  
  
The prickling sensation of Yusuf’s beard rubbing against his skin reminds Ezio for a moment of Leonardo- of his mouth and tongue, his fingers- but all it takes is Yusuf’s mouth seeking his own in a kiss to remind him that this isn’t Leonardo and he isn’t in Firenze.  
  
He doesn’t close his eyes, but his gaze goes out of focus as Yusuf’s tongue darts out to tap against his skin only to be followed by teeth tugging gently at his lip. The heat of it is enough to rob Ezio of his breath, and even with all of his experience he finds himself being drawn into the timeless game of seduction- the giving and taking of it. And he allows Yusuf to play his game- to tease and pull back, thinking he’s in control- but only for a little while.  
  
The surprised squeak that slips from Yusuf’s parted lips is adorable when Ezio pushes him to his back, hands firm on the younger assassin’s shoulders as he pins him to the ground. Without speaking, they both know Ezio is in control- that this is his turf to mark with soft bites and soothing kisses. The skin of Yusuf’s neck is hot under his tongue, the muscles of his shoulders and chest tensing beneath his hands, and it takes effort not to give in when Yusuf hitches one of his thighs on Ezio’s hip, grinding up against him.  
  
It’s with great reluctance that Ezio pulls away, the orange glow of the rising sun reminding him that there are greater things at stake here. He can’t help but grin at the red bruise forming on Yusuf’s shoulder- it’s a mark that will be easily covered by his clothes. The important thing is that _he_ knows it’s there.  
  
“We should be getting back,” Ezio says, “The others might wonder where we’ve gone.”  
  
Contrary to his words, he leans in and sucks gently on Yusuf’s lower lip, reveling on the low groan that rumbles from his chest in response.  
  
“I would rather stay here,” Yusuf mumbles back, “But you are right.”  
  
  
If anyone notices them coming in together, they don’t say anything.

 

 


End file.
